


I feel nothing, I feel everything

by Tiara_of_Sapphires



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Misuse of Divine Pulse, Mutual Pining, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Spoilers for Flayn and Seteth's paralogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-19 12:23:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22410967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiara_of_Sapphires/pseuds/Tiara_of_Sapphires
Summary: He rejects her. She reacts.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 24
Kudos: 301





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy! Time for some pain!  
> Enjoy!

There was no concrete moment when Byleth realized that her feelings towards Seteth had morphed from tolerance to something deeper than affection.

In the beginning, he had been prickly and distrustful of her. It stung, though she understood his hesitance to welcome her into the monastery. The way he glared at her whenever she even walked near Flayn rankled her more than anything. While she was a stranger, she surely wasn’t going to do anything to his sister.

She wasn’t sure what Seteth had thought she was, though her reputation as an efficient killer preceded herself. She responded to his distrust with blank stares and a willingness for bringing a body count of the Church's enemies to the monastery doorsteps like a cat would leave dead birds for its owner. The Church said to kill, and she killed.

He had left her to her own devices in her new role, being as unhelpful as possible. She was surprised that he didn't try to run her out of the monastery when she wielded the Sword of the Creator as her own. She had become a threat in his eyes, she knew it.

It was by Rhea’s graces and her father’s good reputation that she was allowed to stay. She was stranger, usurper, the Archbishop’s favorite.

It took rescuing Flayn and putting herself between Flayn and the Death Knight for Seteth to trust her. She remembered the look of gratitude on his face when they crossed paths in the healer’s room. He had been so haggard, as if his entire world had been snatched from him. The naked happiness on his face seemed to chase away any notion that he was simply a frigid man who had it out for her.

She wasn’t sure if she fell in love with him at that moment, but it was definitely the day she remembered falling asleep to the memory of his face. There was that sparkle in his eye, gratitude and tears, that stirred something inside that she thought was reserved for other people, not for her.

From that day on, they had tea together, sometimes twice and three times in a week. Sometimes, when grading her student’s papers became overwhelming, she would bring a stack to his office and request his help.

She always handled the practical aspect of her students’ courses, but the more conceptual and writing-based assignments she had to grade often had her glazing over and just slapping high marks even for those who didn't deserve it.

Seteth was fair, if not a bit harsh.

This week, she found herself with an especially tall stack of papers to grade. They were so busy with handling bandits and researching a conspiracy that she couldn't get around to doing most of her professor duties.

That brought her to Seteth’s quarters, after dinnertime. He had willingly volunteered to help when he wandered past her classroom one day and saw the backlog. While she was sure she didn't make her exhaustion and faint panic obvious on her face when he saw her, it was clear that he could sense it.

They worked in relative silence, commenting only on particularly impressive or not-so-impressive works by her students.

He handed her one graded paper and she quickly skimmed it over.

“I told you not to be too hard on them,” Byleth sighed.

The man seated next to her gave her a blasé stare. “The Gautier boy is too lax. You can tell he is just scraping by on his studies and leaning on his battling prowess to keep him ahead.”

Seteth wasn’t wrong, but the red marks covering his assignment on the benefits of ranged attacks seemed a bit excessive.

“He doesn’t like using bows, so I don't make him use it,” she said with a shrug.

They stared at each other, Byleth not willing to back down. She had her own teaching style, just as Hanneman and Manuela did.

Seteth looked away first with a twist of the mouth. “You seem to be very lenient on your students.”

“I want them to succeed at the things they want to succeed in. I don't want them to waste their energy on skills that will not be useful to them.” Byleth sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back on the couch. “At least I’m consistent with their leadership trainings. They have been doing well with their practice battalions.”

While the entire class participated in the leadership lessons, some were more adept than others. Felix absolutely hated it, but swallowed his pride. There were few times for practical tests of their skills, but she had faith that when the time came, her students would succeed.

“Ah yes. While it is good to be a warrior yourself, you must be ready to lead others into battle. I admire you for that.”

She froze, blushing. Suddenly, she couldn't look at him. Instead, she stared at the woven blanket that was folded and draped over the couch’s back. It looked soft and warm, and probably smelled like comfort.

Byleth snapped herself out of it. “Admire?” she parroted quietly.

He had paid her a compliment after Flayn was rescued, one that made her feel near-buoyant for the rest of the day but it was clear he didn't offer praise lightly.

“Yes. You lead your students with impressive skill, especially for someone who hasn’t had even a year’s experience. I think, once your students leave the Officers’ Academy, they will be successful in life.”

Byleth ducked her head, watching Seteth in the corner of her eye.

“Thank you. I definitely hope so.”

Byleth wasn’t one to be so easily disarmed. She lived her life as this unflappable being, without wavering or hesitation. She wanted to reach out, like a child tempted by a bright toy or a sweet treat. She also wanted to run for the hills and never return.

Is this what it was like? To like someone so much that it hurt to be around them? It was horrible and exhilarating and foreign to her and she wasn’t sure if it she was better off if that part of herself remained asleep.

Even as they sat together in his little room, sharing tea and grading papers, she felt something churning in her stomach.

Everything about this felt so surreal. All around them were maps and paintings of quaint scenes of animals and knights. Some of them were rough sketches, telling stories without words. This was the man sitting beside her? The man who projected such a stern attitude was also a man who had a shelf full of fables from across the continent?

It was almost too much to bear, being so close to such a strange man and wanting to touch and hold so badly.

“You...,” she paused.

She knew she made a mistake in opening her mouth. Now, she had to complete some sort of thought before she made a fool of herself.

Seteth looked at her expectantly. “Me?”

She inhaled, pretending to be in thought, smelling something so sharp and strong that it made her eyes water. She wondered how she didn't notice it earlier.

“You smell like mint. Were you rolling in the stuff before you arrived?”

It was Seteth’s turn to blush. “Ah, no. My wyvern gets bad breath from her meals so I feed her poultices of mint to get rid of the smell.”

“You have a _wyvern_?”

Apparently, there was very little she knew of the man. Being a wyvern rider took a significant amount of skill. She had never seen him in battle, even training.

“Her name is Asp. Though sometimes I wonder if ‘Ass’ is a better name.”

There was a beat of silence before a smile crawled onto her face.

“Was that a joke? Did the good advisor just tell a joke?” she wondered.

He leaned in a touch with a conspiratorial smile. “Don’t tell anymore.”

For a moment, they sat there. It was a respectable distance from each other, just close enough that a discerning eye might think that this was too close for two colleagues.

Byleth was painfully conscious of it.

“ _He likes you_ ,” Sothis murmured. “ _You like him_.”

She pushed away that tiny voice in her head. It was true, but she didn't need an outside voice talking about it.

Even when he hated her and she was indifferent to him, there was a small part of her that liked him. That part of her only grew to this all-encompassing _thing_ that she found herself shouldering at that moment.

“Seteth?”

“Hm?”

Byleth was at a loss for words, at a time where she actually wanted to speak. The moment was dissipating and her window to act was closing.

She chose action above words.

Byleth shifted forward, bracing herself on one arm as she leaned close to Seteth.

She kissed his slack mouth and for a moment everything felt right. A tiny, lingering void in her soul found itself filled. The churning of anticipation subsided and turned to euphoria.

The contact lasted for less than a second before Seteth recoiled.

“I’m—I’m sorry I projected the wrong intentions, Professor.”

He leaned away from her and his face twisted with something akin to revulsion.

He rejected her. Out of his adherence to propriety, he didn't shove her away or spit on her, but it was of the same effect. While there was barely a foot between them, a valley seemed to have opened up, impassible.

Pain lanced through her chest, so visceral that for a moment she forgot that she wasn’t on a battlefield. She didn't think. She just acted, anything to take the pain away.

Otherworldly power pulled at her gut as, for an agonizing moment, Seteth’s expression froze. The dancing sparks in the fireplace paused in midair. Byleth watched him in that moment of time between times, regarding his face and the brightness in his eyes with sorrow before everything traveled backwards.

Her body moved, taking her teacup into her hand and moving away from Seteth. Seteth’s face turned from tight rejection back to that peaceful ease.

“ _Fool! What are you doing?_ ” Sothis howled.

She blinked as she was back in place, the last syllable of his name in her mouth, Seteth staring expectantly at her.

The pain continued, crushing her chest and choking her throat. Her words and actions were destroyed, torn from history. Seteth knew nothing. Why did it still hurt?

She stood, the teacup shaking so hard it almost spilled.

“I have to go. Thank you for your hospitality.”

If Seteth was hurt by her sudden departure, she didn't see it. If he asked her to stay, she didn't hear it. She all but scrambled out the door, walking a familiar path to her room.

She didn't even think about the stack of papers she just left on his table.

Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she held herself together. She couldn't be seen like this, especially not by her students. They liked wandering after dusk, sneaking treats from the dining halls or taking extra time to train when the grounds were empty.

As soon as the door closed and the lock turned, she buried her face into her hands and shuffled to her bed.

The incident was dashed from the flow of time. It didn't exist, as far as anyone was concerned. The knowledge of his rejection still lay bitter in her mind. It was no different from stopping her students from dying. Sure, it was fixed and her students still lived, but she still saw them die. There was nothing to chase those images from her mind.

“What are you doing? You cannot use my powers for something so trivial and juvenile!” Sothis lectured, manifesting in the corner of her room.

She refused to think about the slight touch of his mouth against hers and the tiny audible hitch in his breath. It was perfect for the brief instant it existed.

It had been foolish, amateurish, and she likely ruined everything.

“What’s done is done,” Byleth mumbled before pulling her blanket over her head.

She wished Sothis would leave her alone. She already had her own mind berating her poor decisions; she didn't need another.

“You should have accepted the consequences of your actions like an adult. I can’t believe I have to be the one to tell you—.”

“Shut up!” Byleth snapped. “Go back to sleep if you’re so upset with me.”

She could feel Sothis’ offense before her presence faded.

Byleth, for a moment, relished being alone.

It seemed like it was all she was destined for.

* * *

* * *

Her heart clenched when she heard Flayn and Seteth argue.

Flayn, headstrong and eager to learn, had been a perfect addition to her class. She reminded her painfully of Seteth, but Byleth refused to let that color her opinion of Flayn.

She had avoided the man whenever she could. He often kept himself in or nearby his office, so it wasn’t too difficult to do. Their tea times stopped and she did all of her grading by herself.

When she saw him in the halls, she always found an excuse to either avoid contact at all or keep the conversations to only pleasantries.

This time, no such luck, and she couldn't bear to ignore Flayn.

The two recounted a story of a holy site under siege. Of course, Flayn wanted to accompany Seteth. She fought with vigor and enthusiasm next to her fellow students and she had a fierce loyalty to her brother.

Of course, she would help them. She didn't want to think about Flayn in a dangerous situation without her, especially after the Death Knight business.

Byleth absorbed herself in understanding the enemy and in preparing her students on the journey to Rhodos Coast. She only interacted with Seteth when necessary, keeping him at a careful distance.

The battle was hard-fought.

Seteth rode his wyvern and wielded a lance with an expertise that had her students awe-struck. His brow was tight throughout the battle, exchanging barbs with the head mage.

Byleth kept tabs on him the entire time, while making sure that her students were out of immediate danger.

She could turn back time and save them from death, but now use of the ability made her stomach feel sour. Sothis hadn’t forgiven her from the misuse of her ability, but they both knew the girl couldn't take back what she had given.

She used her sword to cut down the mages and the assassins with the same merciless strikes she grew up using. It was easier to kill than to worry.

Heretics, Seteth called them. It was clear that this was more than just defending the Central Church from radicals. His eyes were drawn to the shrines built into the sand. This was important to him and to Flayn as well. His lips curled at the sight of the people standing on the sacred ground, eyes flashing with anger.

If it made her fight harder, she wouldn’t admit it.

When the last priest fell, Byleth met Flayn and Seteth at the shrine.

Seteth entrusted her with the Spear of Assal and the Caduceus Staff, relics of Cichol and Cethleann.

She wasn’t exactly sure what to do with them. The Sword of the Creator was enough of a burden on its own. The tentative swell of pride that he would trust her with something so important was crushed as the confession flowed from his lips.

Her hunch had been correct. There was more about the shrine than what she thought.

A wife? Flayn was his daughter? Whether Seteth intended to or not, it felt like a physical blow.

No wonder he didn’t want her. She was an intruder into their lives and had been from the beginning. He didn’t trust her, only until she returned Flayn to him and even then, it wasn’t the same. It was transactional, easily broken as soon as she became inconvenient for him.

She had no part in this and this only made it more evident.

She would keep their secret. It wasn’t even a question.

Byleth plastered a soft smile to her face, excusing herself to check on the students.

After the carnage had been cleared, the Blue Lions gathered at the shoreline, playing in the water. Armor had been discarded to a patch of grass. At least, her students had enough foresight to not get their armor ruined by seawater.

Byleth called out, “Remember, we have to get back to Garreg Mach. Let’s not soak ourselves and make the journey home unbearable.”

Sylvain paused and allowed Felix to escape his grip, who cursed the other boy for trying to dunk him in the water.

“Aw, come on, Professor!” Annette called out. The girl had made a tower of wet sand, sticking a branch as its banner.

For a moment, Byleth wanted to be cruel. She wanted to kick down that tower and demand her students collect themselves. She swallowed it down and instead moved closer to where the water met the shore.

“Have you been to the ocean before, Professor?” Ashe asked. The boy sat just far enough that the water didn't touch him, but he seemed content with sitting in the warm sand.

She nodded, looking out to the horizon.

“I have. I just don't think it was ever as pretty as this.”

Flayn and Seteth, in their own way, gave her a gift. It was a flower hidden amongst many thorns, but she could appreciate it all the same.

“We’ll stay for another hour and then we’ll start back towards the monastery. Is that clear?”

That seemed to satisfy them. Byleth watched the waters move from where she stood and took in the sounds of her students enjoying their brief reprieve.

Seawater marked their trail as they walked back to the monastery.

There were gripes about chafing, which garnered teasing from the students who had the foresight to stay dry.

Byleth found herself walking beside Flayn. Seteth had offered to fly Flayn back to the monastery, but she had refused. She would rather walk with her class.

Seteth’s wyvern had already flown off towards the monastery, leaving Seteth to linger behind the group as watchman.

“He means well, you know?” Flayn whispered. “My brother.”

Byleth nodded wordlessly. Of course, Seteth meant well. He meant what was best for the Church and for Flayn, above all things.

“I hope he hasn’t said anything cruel to you.”

“What makes you say that?” Byleth said, perhaps a little too quickly.

She glanced over to see Flayn shrugging. “I haven’t seen you around his office lately. I miss your company.”

Excuses and changes of subject welled up, but instead all she could manage was a lame “I see you around class.”

Flayn waved her hand dismissively. “Seeing you, my professor, in class is to be expected. I care more about seeing you in a more relaxed setting.”

Byleth bowed her head. “I apologize. I shall send more invitations to have tea with you from here on out.”

She wasn’t sure how to manage that. Flayn was now a reminder and explanation of Seteth’s rejection.

“And I hope you can mend whatever rift has come between you and my brother.”

“There is no rift.”

Flayn looked at her with eyes that belied her childlike manner.

“He seems to bother me more often because he doesn’t have you to talk to.”

Flayn excused herself after that, flouncing over to Annette and looping her arm around hers.

It brought a smile to Byleth’s face, which immediately faded when she found Seteth walking beside her.

They were silent for a long time. She struggled to distract herself by watching her class and thinking about how much her old knee injury bothered her when she neglected to put salve on it after a battle.

She didn't want to talk to Seteth, but she wondered what he was thinking.

“Professor.”

Byleth didn't externally cringe, but part of her shriveled at the sound of his voice.

“Yes?”

She glanced at him for a moment and saw him watching her face. She immediately turned back, suppressed a blush that threatened to overwhelm her.

“I just wanted to reiterate my gratitude for helping us.”

Flayn’s words echoed in her mind, but she knew his actions said more than the secondhand accounts from his daughter.

“Of course, Seteth. This was in service of the Church, after all.”

Even in her ears, the words sounded hollow. She couldn't look at him and focused on the road in front of them. She had been good about ignoring the way her chest fluttered and her stomach sank when he was around, when she thought of him. That was her burden.

“Surely, that can’t be all,” Seteth insisted. “Professor…”

His hand caught her elbow and she pulled away as if he had burned her. Her heart climbed to her throat. The urge to run returned. She wanted to crawl out of her skin.

He had rejected her. Any contact, any kindness, was out of the same pity he showed her when she kissed him.

“You would do the same for me. That’s all.”

The words, clipped and curt, echoed in her head as she walked away to return to her students. If her expression worried them, they gave nothing away.

“Do you think my aim is getting better, Professor?” Mercedes wondered.

It was a transparent attempt to distract her from her mood, but she accepted it. Byleth nodded, remembering how her spell struck one of the archers dead-on from halfway down the battlefield.

“You did well. You all did.”

Sylvain called out with a grin, “Good enough to excuse us from classes for the rest of the week?”

She shook her head with a small smile.

“I think that you did so well that I ought to increase your course loads.”

The chorus of groans made her smile grow and, for a moment, she could forget about the man trailing behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even more suffering! And perhaps some resolution? :3c
> 
> Thank you to everyone who had kudos and commented on this story so far!
> 
> Enjoy!

_“To think that the first time I saw you cry... your tears would be for me.” “Thank you, kid.”_

The memory had her gripping the arrow so hard it almost snapped in two in her hand.

She barely heard her father’s last words. She had almost torn herself apart trying to save him. No matter how many times she tried to fix it, the wraith always blocked her blade and Monica always dealt the killing blow.

It was fate, Sothis had said. Byleth wasn’t too sure about that.

She hated archery more than most things, but if she had bothered to master it, maybe her father would still be alive. She could’ve fired an arrow into Monica’s eye and put an end to her.

That regret led her to the target range in the hours following the students’ curfew. She lit torches to illuminate her target, lining up with a bow and quivers of arrows.

Her muscles strained as she pulled the arrow back and let it fly, hitting the target just off-center.

_Not good enough._

The day her father died, she had opened her mouth to ask one of the healers to do something, but she shut it with a click. She knew the truth, that there was nothing to be done. Fate, Sothis said.

Her students treated her like she would shatter like glass at any moment, which was maddening. Everyone gave their condolences, their sorry looks. Even _him_. He didn't want her but he still offered her kind words and righteous anger.

Byleth wasn’t exactly helping her case. She found her shoulders sagging, her face turning to a frown, whenever she forgot to check herself. No matter what, she looked the part of the mourner, encouraging pity.

The hollow sound of arrowhead hitting wood rang too loud in her ears and she swore again. She couldn't shoot straight. She nocked another arrow. She could hit this damn target in its damn center.

Minutes, hours passed, long enough for the night’s chill to settle into her bones.

Halfway through her third quiver of arrows, the world began to feel a little less real. Everything was too heavy, too light, as if she would sink into the ground or fly away with the slightest push.

The next arrow went flying, missing the target and hitting the tree right behind it. Byleth made an annoyed grunt, pulling back another arrow, blood rushing in her ears.

How obnoxious, the targets doubled before her eyes and she didn't have enough arrows to stick them all. She struggled with the bow this time, the wood resisting any bend and the string bit into her fingers with a harsher sting than she remembered.

The bow and arrow fell from her hands with a clatter.

Her heart didn't beat, but she knew that her body was stretched to its limit. Black tinged her vision as her legs gave out from underneath her.

Blissful weightlessness was all she knew for an instant before an arm wrapped around her waist, keeping her upright. The shock of contact had her stiffening, throwing an elbow that connected with the person’s stomach. She hadn’t heard anyone approach. Was it Jeralt’s ghost, coming to take her with him?

A wheeze escaped her captor, followed by a “Professor?”

Recognition crashed over her like an ocean wave. The fight immediately exhaled out of her and she went limp, allowing that strong arm to keep her from falling to her knees. She ducked her head, letting her hair cover her face.

Why? Of all people, why him?

“Why are you here?” she asked, wishing that she could spit the words with venom. Instead, she sounded exhausted, defeated.

Seteth was silent and for a moment Byleth was sure he wouldn’t answer the question.

“I’m making sure you don’t destroy yourself,” he finally murmured.

Her breath hitched and her hands flew to her mouth to suppress a sob. No. She didn't want him to see her cry, but it looked like she didn't have a choice.

She couldn't see his face, but she didn't want to imagine the expression that he would likely find there: disgust in her moment of weakness. His arm was solid around her and she could feel the play of muscles under his coat sleeve. It should have filled her with shame to find herself so reliant on him, but she couldn't help it.

“Come along, Professor.”

He dragged her away from the target range and she kept her gaze trained to his shiny shoes as he led her along. It turned her stomach to be reduced to an invalid, but she could find no will of her own to walk forward.

“You taking me to the infirmary?” she mumbled. She wasn’t sure if she could stand Manuela’s ministrations at this hour or any hour, really. Word of her state would likely get out to the students, bringing more pity with it, or worse, questions about her competency as professor.

Instead of answering, he gently hushed her. “Come along, now.”

She zoned out through most of the walk, caring not for where they went. She could barely keep one foot in front of the other, burdening Seteth with her weight.

They stopped at a very familiar wooden door as Seteth turned a key in its lock. The blast of warmth from the fireplace immediately thawed her joints, making her slump just a little harder against Seteth. Seteth led her to the couch next to the fireplace, the same place where Byleth made her ill-fated confession. She couldn't dwell on it for too long.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Seteth murmured.

The gentle words clawed at her chest and brought tears that she frantically wiped away the moment Seteth had his back turned.

She pried off her boots with numb fingers. Her right hand stung with every movement. Under the fire’s light, blood oozed from cuts in her fingers where the bowstring bit too hard.

She pulled the knitted blanket over her legs.

“Where’s Flayn?” she asked softly.

“Asleep. I’m going to make some chamomile, if that is acceptable to you.”

Byleth shrugged. “I’m not picky.”

She knew he liked strong, spicy teas and Flayn had her favorite fruit teas. Why he had chamomile in his stores of tea, she had no idea.

Her eyes traced the pattern on the blanket as he prepared the tea and brought a cup to her. She took it, wincing as the heat leached into the cuts in her hand.

Seteth sat beside her, closer than the last time they met on this couch. Nothing had changed and everything had changed, but he was still close. It was a temptation, but she knew better. She was weak and beaten. He didn't want her when she was strong, so he wouldn’t want her now.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you being kind to me?” she asked.

Seteth froze at the question. “You showed me kindness when...when Flayn was missing.”

Another blow, not quite as painful as a rejection, but painful all the same.

He had been frantic, about to work himself to an early death, when Flayn was gone. He was prickly and wild, but she would leave him food and drink and drag him to the training grounds to blow off some steam.

A kindness for a kindness, but it did not assuage the pain that sat heavy in her chest. He might as well have let her collapse out at the target field. A guard would’ve found her, eventually.

“So, this is out of obligation,” she murmured, shoulders tensing. “I do not require your pity, Seteth.”

She couldn’t bear it. She could handle his mistrust and dislike, seeing them as only short obstacles to overcome with every high mark her student achieved and every battle she won. She could barely accept his rejection of her, keeping her at arm’s length. She could eventually accept his friendship, once the hole in her heart mended.

Pity...there was little she could do about that.

Seteth shook his head. “No, this is not out of pity. I see you now as a... a friend.”

Any anger exhaled out of her, leaving her hollow. There was hope to be had from that, she supposed.

Before she could move to put her teacup down, Seteth reached out with a wet cloth.

In her hazy state, she hadn’t noticed the bowl on the table, full of water. Byleth winced at the first touch of the warm cloth, before leaning into the touch.

“It feels good,” she murmured.

Gently, he cleaned her face of dried sweat and brought warmth to her skin.

Her eyes fluttered shut, unable to do anything else. She couldn't stare at him. It would only lead to heartbreak if she did and she didn't have the energy to fix it if her true feelings came out again.

His touch paused, the cloth lingering at her chin. She opened her eyes to see Seteth staring at her with an intense expression. Her stomach swooped, butterflies dancing with the tea in her stomach.

Oh, Goddess, he was handsome.

A shiver danced up her spine as she remembered who she was and where she was. But she didn’t want this to end.

She reached up and gently took the rag from his hand, not breaking her stare. Under the firelight she couldn’t tell if he was blushing but there was a strange brightness in his eye. A hallucination. He didn't want her. That much was clear. She glanced down at her hands as she gently cleaned them, unable to look at him. The warm water stung the shallow cuts, but it washed away the dried blood.

“I didn’t want you to be alone,” Seteth whispered as she cleaned herself. “Of all people, I didn't want you to be alone during this time.”

She shivered, the carefully constructed walls she built around herself to keep the onslaught of emotions at bay splintering.

If only he knew, that she was a dam of emotions that she didn't know was full to bursting until Sothis had awoken inside of her. She wanted to cry and cry some more as she remembered what she saw other people do in times like this.

She knew and she wanted it, but could she have it?

“I know that this is outside of what—what is professional,” she muttered, wincing as her voice cracked. She set the rag down on the table and wrung her hands together. The wounds still stung and oozed tiny droplets of blood. “Could I have a hug?”

A childish request that hung in the air for mere seconds, unanswered, but Seteth reached out all the same, without hesitation. She burrowed herself in his arms before her errant thoughts could catch up with her.

He didn't smell like mint this time, but like chamomile and honey and warmth. Had he been in bed before he went out to find her?

She felt her tears soaking into his shirt. His hand pressed against her back, too warm. The other landed a little higher, just below the base of her neck, playing with the strands of her hair.

“Take all the time you need,” he said. She could feel his chest rumble against her.

So cruel a touch, knowing that this would be the last time. The widower, father, right hand of the church, so distant from her. He would give her scraps and she would lap them up like a starved dog.

“I’d need forever, if I could,” she whispered. “I know that isn’t possible.”

She could keep this moment in her heart—as cold and unmoving as it was—for the rest of her days, even if her relationship with him remained strictly professional. She could watch him from a distance and let their orbits brush by on occasion, but never enough to tempt her.

“I know. It is easy to be stopped by grief, to shut down. I had Flayn during my loss, to keep me going. And you have…”

She swallowed, wishing that he would finish the thought for her.

“My students. The people of the monastery,” she said.

_You._

She pulled away, already missing the contact. She allowed the walls to build again between them.

“Thank you, Seteth.”

He watched her. It always as if he was looking under her skin, seeing her true self. Whatever he saw, clearly, he thought it was worth keeping around. Perhaps there was some hope to be had.

“You’re welcome, Professor.”

The softness still lingered, but she knew better. There was distance between them, immutable, and it had to stay that way.

“You can sleep on the couch, if you’d like,” Seteth said, rising from his seat. “I would rather you didn't go back to your quarters in such a state.”

She was too drained to protest. Even her bitter, rebellious thoughts were a quiet mumble. He cared about her. That had to be enough.

He cleared away the rag and cups as she pulled one of the decorative pillows to one end of the couch and pulled that knit blanket over her legs. They quietly wished each other goodnight after Seteth smothered the fire, leaving it in gently burning coals. The door to his bedroom closed with a soft click and she was alone.

Byleth wriggled a little on the couch, feeling strangely out of place, like her true belonging was somewhere else. It felt too strange, being offered this moment of respite away from the loneliness of her room, but also being kept at a similarly lonely arms’ length away. She would have to dissect that later

She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. Sleep didn't come for her yet, but exhaustion kept her in a heavy fog.

When the door to Seteth’s quarters opened again, she was sure she was dreaming.

He surely had forgotten something in the room and was returning to retrieve it. Nothing to do with her. Afraid to ruin the illusion, she shut her eyes, hoping that this tall shadow, real or imaginary, didn't notice. She was still, keeping her breath even in her mimicry of sleep.

Byleth listened for the gentle padding of feet and she promptly ignored her wonderings of if Seteth slept barefoot or with socks on. Instead, she was aware that he moved not in the periphery of the room, but he made his way towards the couch she slept on. She could feel Seteth’s presence like a physical weight. Her dreams were never this, only when Sothis appeared before her. He was real.

The gentle footsteps slowed, the sound barely there, before he stopped right by her head. Her pulse and her fear rushed in her ears, rendering what Seteth murmured unintelligible. Perhaps, her name? There was the rustle of cloth and motion and suddenly, his breath washed over her face.

For a moment, time seemed to stop, leaving them dangling between one choice and another. Whether it was the Goddess’ will or their own, Seteth ducked down, brushing his lips against hers in a feather-light press.

He pulled away with a soft sound, saying nothing before returning to his room.

For a long moment, she lay on the couch, in that warmth and shock. It didn't feel real, but she knew that it was. She remembered confessing to Seteth that she slept like the dead during one tea time. Had he remembered that fact and felt confident that he could kiss her in her sleep and not wake her up?

Was he just as afraid of his feelings as she was of hers?

She knew she couldn't stay in that place. Her restraint had its limits and in her sleepy state, she didn't know what she could end up doing. Probably bursting into his quarters and demanding an explanation.

Her mouth still tingled and her face felt like it was on fire. He kissed her.

“Good night, Seteth,” she breathed, sitting up and swinging her legs over the edge of the couch.

Her limbs protested, pulling her back towards the couch. Everything was going to hurt in the morning. Her pride kept her moving. The blanket smelled like him, so she took it with her.

If he didn't notice the theft, fine. If he did, at least it was a signal to him that the kiss was welcome. The thought of him noticing was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying.

When she got back to her quarters, she smelled it one more time before tucking it under her, face reddening.

He kissed her.

For a moment, things felt like they were going to be okay. She would need to stand on her two feet and put on a brave face in the coming weeks. No matter what, her students needed her. She was awakening, somehow, and the parts of her that were once dormant were coming to life. She could smile and cry, whether she liked it or not.

Sothis seemed smug where she sat in the corner of her mind and Byleth didn't bother needling her about her attitude.

“Are you going to try to kiss him again? You two seem like quite the match,” Sothis chirped. She sounded way too pleased, as if this was as much fate as everything else that had come before that moment.

Byleth rolled over onto her stomach and buried her face in her pillow. “Perhaps.”

Sothis left her alone to her thoughts after that, but her presence lingered. Byleth had much to think about, even as the need for sleep tugged at her limbs and pulled at her eyelids.

Seteth liked her, more than a friend. She could work with that. She could _definitely_ work with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed!  
> [Here’s my Tumblr! Feel free to follow and drop Setleth drabble/fic requests!](https://tiaraofsapphires.tumblr.com/)  
> All feedback is appreciated! Comments/kudos feed me and definitely motivate me to write more stories!  
> Cheers!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed what has happened so far! Tune in next week for the conclusion :3c  
> [Here’s my Tumblr! Feel free to follow and drop Setleth drabble/fic requests!](https://tiaraofsapphires.tumblr.com/)  
> All feedback is appreciated! Comments/kudos feed me and definitely motivate me to write more stories!  
> Cheers!


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